The Saint's New Daddy
by Missbexiee
Summary: The boss of The Saints has been there and done that for a lot of things... but can he conquer being a good father, where shooting something in the face doesn't solve the problem? Rated T for language (possibly continuable if there is support). Mostly Saints Row the Third events with references to past titles.


**This is a random, random, RANDOM, story (but for real, what ISN'T random in The Saints-verse)? It is a bit of backstory for the character I always play in The Saints game - a muscular, black haired, bearded, British man. I don't know why but I am just in love with him... so I was playing with situations he might find himself and came up with this one. Surprise: the boss is a dad!**

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><p>"Boss," Shaundi's voice takes on a bit of a departed tone, "there's someone here to see you."<p>

The person in question is not one typical to visit the gang sanctuary of The Saints. No, this person is not dressed in a shirt revealing sexual organs or a face painted with colors. The person in question is a woman, a female with high taste and an even higher, more obvious, wealth to follow it.

She exits the elevator with a certain degree of pretension, her nose sticks up just enough to make its intended impact. The boss of The Saints has only enough time to register the new guest before the stench of her perfume hits him. He knows of this perfume, one carefully picked out and used consistently to become familiar with its bearer.

He had purchased this perfume long ago.

Slowly, the situation becomes real. The room which is usually used for salacious parties or wild shoot-outs takes on a different air, one that is filled with tension and confusion. Usually, by now, the gang's boss would have either shot the intruder or taken them in for an embrace and a drink of liquor. But neither has occurred.

Everything is silent as the boss turns to face the woman, his face clearly forced into a smile as he opens it towards the woman, "It's been a long time, Charlotte."

"Indeed it has, Archer," her voice drips the name in a sinister tone – a name that is never used to refer to the man of such a prestige.

He clenches his fists as he attempts to remain cordial. Both their accents give away their native homeland of some English country, which exact one is unimportant to the Americas that surround them. The boss prods for more answers from this untimely appearance, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The woman scoffs, "Oh, I thought you'd be happy. I've come to give you something you've wanted for years... and yet I am greeted with such cold arms."

"Love," he begins by casting her off, "I don't have time for your games. Why not get to the point, eh?"

Her manicured hands rub on the smalls of her wrist, choosing her words carefully she begins but in a more reserved tone, "As soon as I leave this building, I am going back to England where I will remain incarcerated for a minimum of ten years."

The man smiles, "How exciting. They finally locked you up? Should have done it sooner."

"Yes," she responds with her own contemptuous smile, "Well, I am not fully relinquishing my hold over my empire, but it does seem that I will be out of direct business for a while."

"What a shame," he cocks his head, "and you came all this way to tell me that? If you're asking me to babysit your bloodstained holdings, you best be looking for another man."

"Don't make me laugh, Archer, I would never rely on a man like you to look over what I've built with my own hands," her brown eyes sparkle as she makes sure the words hit their target. She references something only the two foreigners in the room might understand, she references the day she stole the corrupting conglomerate from her male counterpart, "No, I've come here for a different reason."

"Well do get on with it," he throws his hands up to the room, "we all have other things we'd like to be doing."

She sighs, "I'm here to give you custody of our daughter."

The room grows silent. Upon the woman's initial entry someone used the good notion to turn off the blaring urban music, but in the ensuing interactions a few continued to whisper among one another... now all has been silenced based only on this new information. No one knew the boss had a child, or that he might have ever loved someone, or that his criminal pursuits have carried over from a different land.

"Where is she?"

"Downstairs with the lawyer," the woman looks away, "please, I've tried to raise her well. Don't spoil the manners I've instilled with your barbaric activities."

"Don't you have a jail you have to go grace with your appearance now?" The muscular man pushes past the woman as he nears the elevator, but he stops short, "No, there's something else I want to know," he pauses another moment, "What did you do to get yourself locked up? I was under the impression that you were the Queen of Manipulation?"

At her new monicker she grins, "I made a select group of people mad with my pursuit of another commodity. The Russians were not happy when I decided to sell cocaine out of my whorehouses."

"Out of _my_ whorehouses and brothels," he corrects.

"Oh, darling," she moves closer to the mysterious man with a seductive tilt on her boots, "don't you remember our vows? What's yours is mine?"

The man chews on his lip, "I assumed those vows were nullified when you tried to have me killed?"

She laughs to herself, "Well, go on. I know you want to see the little mongrel," the woman brushes her hair away, "She always speaks of you, you know? Talking about the gifts you've sent her. I killed the pony last year before she saw it."

"And now you can no longer interfere with the only good and pure thing that ever erupted from our revolting arrangement," he presses a button on the metallic doors, "Here, we can take the lift together, I'm sure it'll be a nice taste of what our descent into hell might be like."

Before the boss of The Saints steps into the elevator a hand reaches out for him. Shaundi casts her eyes at the unfamiliar woman and offers her friend a pistol, "I don't trust her, boss."

"Neither do I," he takes the gun as they both enter the box, "but I know this witch well enough to be able to tell when she's trying to pull the wool over my eyes. She would have killed me by now if she had planned to. Back in pinch."

The doors close and only the two figures are left in its wake: a man too disgraced to return to his homeland and meet with his daughter, and a woman too cruel and calculating to have smoothed things over for her ex-lover to be able to do so.

History alone for these two trails on for miles. Each observes the other in the standing moments of their brief journey downwards. The woman stares into the blue eyed man and takes note of each scar – the two on his ear and temple were her doing while the new one peeking out from his beard must have happened after he left the country. The man also takes a moment to look at the woman he once loved, with her voluptuous figure still intact she seems unchanged, though the jewels and furs she now wraps herself in are unbecoming of such a snake, in his eyes at least.

As the doors open they reveal several new characters to this country. Three impressive looking males with bulging muscles wrapped in suits and another, scrawnier man in the same getup stand surrounding a small, unassuming young girl.

Her hair is braided and a light blond hue overpowers the pristine knot work, taking after the mother in most aspects she is a great contrast to the father with his dark, ebony cut. She wobbles on her toes as she attempts to balance and observe the strange new location. Obviously, she is no stranger to luxury and expense but being in the strange, exotic land of America various new things have perked her interest.

The man's eyes spot the small child, who, though still small, seems huge compared to the last time he saw her, "Sophie," his smile is wide as he says the name.

"Daddy!" Her eyes light up recognizing the figure from photographs and online talks as her short legs take her to the giant of a man. Their arms collapse around each other as he picks her body up and swings her around, "Oh, daddy, I've missed you!"

The head of blond hair leans into the large, musky shoulder as he moves closer to the lawyers. One is familiar, a man who used to be a lieutenant when the boss of The Saints was still in charge of the criminal empire back in _his_ England. Now he clearly works for the woman.

"Alright, let's sign the damned paperwork so I can get out of here."

As the names are written, words and rules are shared and the deed becomes finalized. Years ago, when the man known as Archer by so few found out what his wife was doing to turn his people's trust against him their marriage took a nosedive. He later found out it was no real marriage at all, simply a strategic move accomplished by a greedy woman seeking more power and money. She never loved him, but he had surely fallen for her.

She offers no goodbyes, no hugs of farewell to the creature she brought into this world. Since the girl is no longer hers she is now dead to the woman. Since the girl is now his, the child is as repulsive as her ex-husband. Nothing is salvageable in this relationship without the girl, now nothing connects the failed duo. Everyday of her life she regrets choosing a knife over poison to kill the bastard.

The final signature is signed. Sophie sits on a plush coach as she sings to herself, ignoring her two parents. Her father sits back, confident and victorious, after writing out his name for what must be the fiftieth time, "Alright, time for you to head back to England, crumpet."

"Don't call me crumpet, you grotty prat," her street vocabulary takes over from her varying levels of posh attitude.

He flicks up his middle finger, taking the gesture in its purest, American form, "Blow off, you cunt."

She laughs as the words are shared, taking a moment to brush her lips with a new shade of red. Perhaps she wishes to say more, something else that might hurt him, but she doesn't. The men take her gently by the arm, still respecting the level of power she holds at her tips. With that, she is gone.

Now, only the hulking gangster and the young girl remain. Archer slowly walks over to his daughter, holding out his hand to the innocent child. Her young fingers reach for his and they interlock, he calls the elevator down and both take it back up to the penthouse.

Sophie leans into her father, the plush cashmere coat wrinkling upon impact. His large hands smooth through her hair, not fully accepting any of this as being truly real. How badly had he yearned to be the one who kept her? But maybe it's best that it worked out this way: he's no longer a no-name in Stilwater, rather a rich Capo now in Steelport with everything he'd ever need at his command.

The Saints seem to have gotten back into their normal routines because as the duo arrive no one is waiting around. Archer moves into the wide, expansive house, holding onto Sophie even tighter. Her eyes grow wide, staring at the large televisions, the gaggles of people, and the impressive view of the outside city.

"Welcome home," the man who is usually seen popping bullets into people's heads or curb-stomping dissenters, leans down to plant a gentle kiss on this misplaced girl.

A familiar face in The Saint's gang makes his way over, "Well this is surprising, who would've thought the boss had a soft side?"

"Oy," he picks up the girl and spins her towards the reliable soldier, "Pierce, this is my little girl, Sophie."

"It's so nice to meet you, sir," her small hand makes its way for the man.

"Wow, she even has that dumbass accent," Pierce smirks widely as he hits a sore spot with his higher-up.

Archer rolls his eyes with a laugh, "Yeah? Go get stuffed, you wanker."

"So you swear like that in front of your daughter?" Shaundi makes her way over to the crew as well, drink in hand, "She doesn't really look like you."

"She's mine though," Archer explains, "her mother didn't have the sense to lie to me about something like that at the time," he recalls a memory, "though, I wouldn't blame her for that even if she did. I sure made my way around."

"Charlotte Ovenston?" The voice is muffled by something, but its owner quickly makes its appearance known in the form of a redhead holding a computer, "She's the leader of the Rottigans in East Lashmire. I read that she is the head of prostitution and human trafficking for all of England, that's quite an accomplishment."

This makes the leader of the Saints huff, "Kinzie, is there anything you _don't_ look up?"

"No," she smiles in a satisfied manner, "Anyways, there are things I _can't_ look up... like how she ties into you."

Archer places Sophie down and folds his arms, "So, what then? You're all expecting some explanation?"

More of their gang gathers and nods their heads in approval. He calls everyone to the couch, taking a glass of scotch before joining them all. Several men enter with the young girl's luggage and he sends them with their owner to unload it in the bedroom next to the boss's (Pierce has to move out at some point anyways).

"Viola?" Archer calls for the woman as she fumbles with something in the kitchen, "Would you mind heating up a spot of tea for Sophie? Just send it up to her when it's done."

The voice is silenced by something, but it's well assumed the woman agreed to follow the order. She may have grown up a gangster herself, what with the drug dealings, assassinations and prostitution rings, but she has the mind to respect her betters and she has proved most valuable to The Saints.

"So what is the story?" The layered accent is heavy as it comes from Oleg's mouth.

"Right, where to begin?" The man looks away for a moment, observing an expensive painting he stole a few months ago, "I wasn't always a Saint. My upbringing in England was a poor one, father an alcoholic, mother a whore. Wasn't the most ideal situation so I had to make the most of it... I found it most beneficial to deal small things like cigarettes and rubbish erotica. That's when I met my street gang, The Rottigans, fit right in with 'em."

"So that's where you met Charlotte?" Shaundi folds her arms as she tries to place the usually hidden life of the man she's followed this far.

"Oh, no," Archer continues after a sip of scotch, "I went through the ranks until they taught me how to shoot – I had a right knack for it that garnered the respect of some of my betters. They started giving me more important gigs, like driving the crew after a robbery or popping off someone taking our corners. Well, one day I met the big boss, man named Max Fliedling. Good guy, him and I were on a run one day when I must have been eighteen. He got shagged – and not the good kind – but before he died he handed half the holdings over to me."

"So you were in charge of The Rottigans then?" Kinzie doesn't look up as her glasses reveal that she's typing up profiles on something.

"Yes, I was in charge, but Kinzie don't post up all this information. I like to keep a degree of anonymity," he stares directly at the prying woman who merely grins in response, "Anyways, the change in leadership proved well, I convinced a few other small groups to join us and together we developed new brothels and meth labs for various clientele. Lashmire was forever a changed city. As the money came in I met new people, including the prostitutes who I personally observed before sending them to work."

Pierce interrupts with his flirty grin, "Can I do that job here?"

Ignoring the man, Archer continues, "That's where I met Charlotte. You ever ask her if she was a whore she'd say no, but she was. She was different though, sure, she was poor, down on her luck, but unlike other girls who might lick the floor for a buck she would refuse – there was a level of class in her that whore just didn't fit into."

"Oh, real romantic," Shaundi shakes her head, "you two must have been star-crossed lovers then."

"At the time I thought that," the man's hardened face softens as he thinks of the woman he loved back when she was in her prime, "I dotted her around like the rarest diamond, cleaning her up, feeding her only the best, housing her right in my own bed. She and I were in love, or that's what I believed anyways. Back then I didn't pick up on my missing watches, or the scent of other men on her clothes. I even married her," he laughs as if it's the most humorous thing in the world, "I was arse over tit for her."

Viola shakes her head, "I don't know why, though, she seemed kind of like a bitch?"

"Oh, she is a right cunt, but I loved that about her. So I married her and, unbeknownst to me, she was fucking my lieutenants and convincing my friends and allies that I was power-hungry and getting ready to purge several of them. She convinced these people I'd give my life to that I was a threat and that she'd take care of me. Girl could play a room all on her own. She got pregnant and the best thing to ever happen to me did – I became a father and I was thrilled. I even thought about giving up the whole criminal lifestyle to raise my little girl in a respectable manner... but that must have been the last straw since I woke up several days later to a knife at my throat."

"She tried to kill you? Why didn't you kill her when she was here?" All the females sharing the couch join in a denouncing of such activities.

"No, there would have been no point to it," he points to his scars, "I woke up and luckily wasn't so hungover I couldn't deflect the blade, though it did knick me pretty good. We argued, she cried, I screamed, we tried attacking each other – and it all ended when we heard Sophie crying from her crib. She knew what would break me and she was smart enough to use it against me. So, she took me to court, got most of the crew to argue against me and took my daughter all based on accounts of me _abusing_ her."

"Then you ended up in Stilwater... I thought I remember hearing you were born there?" Shaundi doesn't look for a response but tries to place her own story against this timeline, "I guess the accent really refuted that, didn't it?"

"I tried not to talk much when I got to The Saints," the muscled man kicks his feet onto the coffee table, "I mean I was scared shitless too, and embarrassed. But I got more confident over the years. I'm glad to be out of Lashmire."

"Well, your daughter doesn't seem a thing like you, so I guess that's a good thing," Pierce smiles triumphantly as he accosts his long-time friend.

"I guess it is. She isn't like Charlotte or me," the man shakes his head, "that _is_ a good thing," he stands quietly, "I'm going to go check on her. I've explained things to you all and I suspect she'll have questions of her own."

"I'll call you down when they're done preparing dinner," Viola takes the glass of scotch from his hands and dismisses him to his family matters. As soon as he's out of earshot she turns to the others with a quizzical expression on her face, "Who ever thought of that being his back story?"

Kinzie throws up her hands, "I knew a lot of the bits and pieces but that really cleared things up. FBI has a file for him," she looks up to the stares, "Don't worry I'm not updating them, but I did update my own research."

Shaundi raises her brows to the ginger, "Do you have files on all of us?"

"Well, when you put it like that it sounds weird," she sips out of a juice box she's kept with her since the beginning of her boss's tale, "but yes, I do."

"Does anyone else have the worry for this little girl?" Oleg turns to the crew and gathers their attention, "She may be something the enemy uses against us." No one answers him and he continues accounting his worries, "I just fear that if he must make decision of saving one of us and her, he will always choose her."

Pierce stares at his shoes from his slouched position, reaching for the remote to catch the last few minutes of the game, "Guess, we'll just have to keep a close eye on his daughter then and make sure nothing happens."

Upstairs an oddly similar conversation ensues, where a father helps his daughter unpack her bags, "You know, Sophie. I won't let anything happen to you here, you'll be safe, you'll never have to worry. Nor shall you want for nothing."

She falls onto the bed like a feather, "Daddy, I miss my friends from Lashmire."

He joins her, scooping her up as if she were still a babe and not a ten year old young lady. Her head falls into place as he affirms all of this is his new reality, "You'll make some new mates, I'll get you into the best school here in Steelport. Soon your old life will be gone and you'll have this new, better one to look forward to."

Archer has been a father in the technical definition of the word, but not in the literal form. He doesn't know how to formulate his words into comfort. This new, better life isn't appealing to the girl like the man assumes – he figures only, that since his old life was replaced by this one that all change can be spun positively.

Tears well in her small eyes as she turns into the big chest, "I miss mummy."

These new situations and words are things Archer has never faced. This isn't something you can shoot in the face and get over with, this is life – this is his daughter's happiness. He attempts to brush out her hair in hope to calm her, but this is nothing he's prepared for.

"Darling, why don't you finish unpacking?" He stands and moves to her bags, revealing expensive clothes and various keepsakes. The image is so peculiar, the boss of one of the most powerful American gangs unveiling stuffed unicorns and placing them gently on top of dressers, "Here, this will make you feel at home, I promise."

Sophie does let up a smile as she moves to her boxes and bags. She picks up her toys and lays them around on various shelves and her pillows. One such toy is a doll, not a cheap plastic one but a pristine porcelain doll with hand painted features, "Daddy, will you be having tea parties with Marian and I?"

The father sits back staring at the doll in her fine tea clothes. Not only is he attempting to place his new responsibilities, being a father over the internet is much easier than being a live-in one, but he is also trying to figure out how to assimilate the girl to American culture. How could she possibly know the insolent Americans don't drink tea as the English do?

"Of course I will, love," he folds several dresses and smocks before organizing her shoes.

Her girlish gasp distracts him from that, in her hands is something black, sinister, and shiny. She holds a gun, "Daddy! What is this?"

Color drains from the man, how can he explain who he is and what he must do for his wealth and livelihood? Quickly he moves for the girl and grabs the weapon, before she might accidentally fire it. Now he must explain, "It's something used to protect our family. You should never touch one of these, only daddy touches them."

A knock interrupts the tensioned scene and a door opens up with Viola on the other end, "Sorry, dinner is ready."

Before she moves away the young child stops her, "Excuse me Miss, but what is your name?"

"My name is Viola," she turns, confused as to why the child would wish to know.

"You are very pretty, Miss Viola," her brown eyes look over to her father, "I know my mummy and daddy don't love each other much anymore, but I would really like for my daddy to be happy and maybe you would like -"

"Alright Sophie," the man reaches over to the girl's mouth to cover it, "that's enough."

The impressive woman blushes filling her cheeks with a deeper red than already visible in her makeup. She smiles at her boss as she turns to leave, closing the door slightly behind her. As she walks down the stairs she motions for the eavesdropping Saints to go back to their business, "If you want to know what was said just go ask Kinzie!"

Everyone moves to find their seats at the table, Shaundi and Pierce sit across from each other with Kinzie on the female's right and Oleg on the male's. In the middle sit Viola and two empty seats usually offered to Zimos or Angel.

Little feet tap down the stairs and slide into the parlor. A heavier set trample down after her. Archer directs her to the dining room table where the large seat at the head of the table near his right-hand friends sits open to him. Sophie, without second guess, hops over to the free chair near Oleg. She stares up to the large man with a giggle.

"Here we go, Steelport grilled steaks, beansprouts and whipped cauliflower casserole," a young man that The Saints had hired as their personal chef reveals the hearty meal with a flick of his hand.

He scoops out portions for each of the main faces of the organization and places them on fancy dishes bought with large sums of money and bloodshed. A second chef walks out to offer everyone their wine chosen specially to accompany this particular mean. If there's one thing the boss of The Saints does not like to treat lightly it is his meals.

"Alright, dig in then," he approves as his friends begin at the meal. Today was a celebration, a triumph. To have something he wanted for so long is a dream come true. And for that something to be his daughter it is a miracle. Wherever her mother may be he hopes she stays there for a long time to come and stays out of this new life for good.

"Why you not eating, little Sophie?" Oleg turns to the girl next to him who folds her arms in response.

"I don't want to eat this," she sits up in her seat and looks over to her father, "I want fish and chips."

"Sophie, sit down," he eyes the child, "there are no chippies in America so you'll just have to eat whatever you are given, now pipe down and eat your food."

"No."

This was a man not used to hearing the words "no" and whenever he did hear it he had many ways to change the response. But none that might work on a little girl. His friends can see his rage mounting and one takes it upon herself to check it.

"But it's _really_ good," Viola grins to the child, "If you finish your dinner maybe your daddy will let you go play and him and I can spend time together."

Archer grows red at the proposition though he knows it is mere manipulation used to convince a child to eat her dinner. Sophie's smile reaches the same as Viola's as she pictures the two of them. Really the child wants a new mother, or someone to symbolize a complete family and not just half of one. She digs her fork into the steak and starts chewing on it in response.

Viola casts a knowing glance over to the boss of The Saints, "I guess she really wants us to spend time together."

Trying not to choke on his food, Archer manages to let out a grunt, "Apparently."

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><p><strong>So I don't know why I made this (haha) but I was replaying all The Saints games and I just have this special connection to my character and wanted to work up a backstory. If I do continue to write this (I mean if anyone likes it <em>that<em> might inspire me) I would start going through the missions my character participated in but how they might change with him now looking after a little girl. Oleg already hinted at one such situation and I think it'd be interesting to assess the assaults on the safehouse and how "Archer" or my "Boss" character might handle saving Sophie.**

**Anyways, this is random and hope you enjoyed it! :) Please leave a review for any comments/concerns/feedback you might have. Thank you!**

Also: Chippie = British fish and chips shop.


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